Sunday 5 September 2021

Hands, rings and work


Yes, still have a few grains of sand between

the prongs of old rings, a mirage of green

their central jewel. A lop-sided, map like stain

that won’t be washed off however hard one tries -

sits on the metal, can’t tell if it gains

or loses  – do metal values remain

proof to mirages, things that characterise


evanescent? Bits of grit still crumbs the toes

and won’t be dusted off. In pockets of clothes

suddenly against fingers looking for

something different. A stab, hard to understand -

easily confused with pain, gone before

it can be classified. Just once and no more.

They turn to what they must, the work in hand.


  1. Beautiful. Those grains of sand/pieces of grit have soooo many stories to tell. Stories which are often untold until that stab reminds us. Again and again.

    1. Thank you. Always more untold stories and unsung s/heroes than known ones.

  2. Hari OM
    Grit...grist...the pricks to keep work honest... YAM xx

    1. Indeed. Nothing like muddy hands for getting a perspective.

  3. Hi Nila - grains of sand ... times of youth and family ... as the tides of time give us ridges for much of life as it progresses. Many soft happy memories - yet life takes us along with hard courses too ... lovely thoughtful poem, reminding me of my Ma and Cornwall days ... all the best - Hilary